


Care and Maintenance

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Character, Bathing/Washing, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Feet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Before a mission and before I went into the ice, somebody would have to clean me. Mostly it was a chore they got stuck with. Sometimes--some handlers insisted on doing it themselves."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care and Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Medved for beta, and for prodding me to fix the ending, and to feanorinleatherpants, stoatsandwich, Rubynye, and Pot of Soup for encouraging this along the way!
> 
> Asexual Character tag explication (because whenever I see that tag I'm like "...but what do you MEAN by that?") is in the end notes.

Steve lasted almost forty-eight hours letting Bucky do whatever it was he was doing without commenting, but the dirty tracks of bare feet across the kitchen floor were the last straw. He followed them to where Bucky was perched on top of the kitchen table. That might mean that today was a no-chairs day, or maybe he wanted Steve to be able to get the full effect of his appearance. 

Bucky hadn't showered in a couple of days, and he'd been wearing the same clothes for all of that time, including workouts. Now in addition to the general reek and his lank unwashed hair and accumulating stubble, Bucky was _dirty_. 

He looked like he'd wiped his face with the back of his hand--both because his face was relatively clean and because there was a darker accumulation of grime across the back of his right hand, blackening his knuckles and streaking up to his wrist. Even his left arm was dirty. The silver shine of it was dulled, and darker lines of accumulated grit showed in the joints. Steve couldn't see the soles of Bucky's feet, but there was dirt caked around and between his toes and nearly up to his ankles.

When Steve walked in he was eating a cookie, crumbs and chocolate smeared around his mouth.

With the addition of the dirt and food stains, he looked less like a guy who'd decided for reasons of his own to give up on showering and more like one of Those Kids his mother and Bucky's had never let them be, no matter how tough things got. Bucky looked like a kid who didn't have anybody to look after him, to put clean clothes on him and wash his face or at least tell him to wash it. Steve was the only person Bucky really had these days, and while Bucky was the furthest thing from a kid, apparently today he needed to be told to wash his face, and probably behind his ears and everywhere else too.

"Bucky," Steve said. "You planning on taking a shower anytime soon?"

Bucky chewed, swallowed, and wiped chocolate and cookie crumbs down the front of his filthy shirt. It wasn't particularly surprising when he said blithely, "Nope."

Bucky leaned back against his hands, holding Steve's gaze and making it a challenge. That meant it wasn't Steve's imagination. Bucky's total departure from hygiene was, somehow, for some reason, directed at him. 

Bucky had been sloppy about his appearance and cleanliness at various times and to various degrees in the month since he'd come in. Steve suspected that baths, showers, and having his face in water were, like chairs, things Bucky could cope with on some days and not others. But Steve had observed all of that through subtle signs--Bucky had still put on fresh clothes and cleaned himself as best he could. He made some kind of effort toward passing off his behavior as normal. But for the last two days Bucky had gone through every part of his routine as usual except that he'd gotten dirtier and dirtier. 

And now he wasn't just dirty, he was _flaunting_ it.

"Is it bothering you?" Bucky asked, tilting his head in as-if-innocent curiosity, like he hadn't been setting this up for two days, whatever this was.

 _Yes_ and _no_ were both obviously wrong answers-- _no_ for being transparently untrue, _yes_ for the number of ways Bucky could misinterpret it. Willfully, no doubt, but Steve didn't want to step into whatever argumentative trap Bucky was laying for him. 

"It's not really my business," Steve tried. "You want to smell bad and be filthy, you're a grown man, you can do that. You could maybe clean the floor, you tracked dirt all over it."

"I'll clean the floor," Bucky agreed, swinging his feet but not relaxing his focus on Steve. "You didn't answer me, though. Is it bothering you? Because if it's bothering you, you can do something about it."

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it, because that had come out smoothly enough that he knew Bucky had been waiting to say it. Bucky had been waiting two days to say it. He'd made himself filthy on purpose, for two days, to get Steve to say something about it so he could tell Steve to do something about it if it was bothering him. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, shifting his weight back on his heels. "Is this a sex thing?"

Bucky vented a bitter little laugh, directing his gaze up to the ceiling for a second before he met Steve's eyes again. 

"Yeah, Stevie, after all the other times you told me you weren't interested I figured the sure way to get into your pants was to make myself fucking physically repulsive. If you don't go for this I'm gonna get myself sprayed by a skunk, that'll win you over in no time."

It was probably the worst possible time to try to make the distinction, but Steve was already saying, "It's not that I'm not interested, Bucky, it's that _you're_ not interested, and I'm not going to-- _make use of you_." 

That was the phrase Bucky had used the first time he offered, and it had been ringing in Steve's ears ever since. 

"I'm not doing anything with you if you don't want to have sex with me for your own sake."

Bucky rolled his eyes like Steve's objection was too ridiculous to argue with. "No, Steve, I'm not trying to get into your pants. I'm just saying--you want to dunk my head in a bucket of water or get out the scrub brush, that's up to you. I'm fine."

Bucky was, in fact, going out of his way to incite Steve to clean him up. He was giving Steve permission--gracelessly, and as-if-grudgingly, but he was still going out of his way to give it. Tactics had never been Bucky's particular area of excellence, but he damn well knew how to get to his chosen target, and Steve could see perfectly plainly where this was going. He still had no idea _why_ , but if Bucky wanted Steve to take responsibility for cleaning him up today, Steve could do it. He would be happy to do it.

And if he was going to wind up uncomfortably aroused in close proximity to a wet, naked Bucky, well. That was his problem, not Bucky's, unless and until Bucky felt the same way.

"All right, fine, I will." Steve made a sweeping gesture toward the bathroom. "Let's go."

Bucky's eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second, like he hadn't expected Steve to call this bluff. Almost before Steve had seen that reaction, though, he jumped off the table. Dust puffed out around his feet, firming Steve's resolve. If Bucky wasn't going to get clean any other way, he still deserved to be clean, no matter how much of a punk he was being about it.

Bucky headed out of the kitchen without looking back, and Steve fell in behind him, following on his heels to the bathroom. Bucky stopped there, turning to face Steve in the narrow space between the sink and toilet and shower. 

"Okay," he said, spreading his arms. "Do your worst."

Steve gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. It was his turn. "You can start by taking off everything you've been wearing since before this morning and putting it in the hamper."

Bucky waggled his eyebrows in exaggerated suggestion but didn't bother making a show of it, just stepped over to the hamper as he stripped. He brushed close enough that Steve got a fresh waft of his days-old stink, and Steve tried to focus on that as he moved in the opposite direction, turning the shower on and checking the water temperature. He tallied up the necessary supplies. They were all waiting on the little wire shelf in the shower where they always were: Bucky's preferred shampoo, soap, shaving cream and razor. 

"When's the last time you brushed your teeth?" Steve asked, keeping his voice even. "Cleaned your ears?"

"This morning," Bucky said. "I wiped my own ass the last time I took a shit, too, Steve, and I even washed my hands after. I'm not an _animal_."

"Glad to hear it." Steve sat down on the edge of the tub to take off his own shoes and socks. He glanced up when he finished, forcing his eyes not to linger as they climbed Bucky's naked body--dirty at the extremities but otherwise potentially really distracting. 

Bucky was giving him a wide-eyed look. 

Steve didn't bother acknowledging that expression. He stood up, stripping out of his shirt and then dropping his jeans. He left his underwear on, which was probably going to get uncomfortable, but he could use some discomfort to get through this without embarrassing himself more than he had to. He'd seen Bucky naked before--they'd shared showers and quarters of all kinds as kids and during the war--but he'd never been free to touch Bucky as much as he was about to. 

"No need for me to get all my clothes wet," Steve said casually. "And no sense getting water all over the bathroom floor."

"Steve," Bucky said, and Steve met his eyes at once. All the asshole bravado had abruptly vanished from his voice. "You don't have to--I can..."

This, Steve thought, was also a trap, even if it was one Bucky might not be laying on purpose. There were right and wrong answers here, just as surely.

"If you don't want me to get in the shower with you, I won't." Steve spread his hands, pantomiming harmlessness. "But if we're going with the theory that washing you is my problem because I'm the one who cares that you're dirty, then this is how I'm going to do it. Okay?"

Bucky gave a jerky nod.

Steve pushed the shower curtain all the way back and checked the water temperature again. He stepped in at the far end of the tub, getting only his feet wet and leaving the spot under the spray for Bucky. "Come on in, then."

Bucky took his place directly under the spray. He stood there, shoulders hunched, hands at his sides, water running down over his head. He looked like a miserable cat in the rain. 

"Buck, is this--is the water okay?"

Bucky nodded, still not meeting Steve's eyes. Steve took a step closer, so there were only a couple of inches separating them. 

"Okay if I touch you?"

Bucky nodded again, a quick, stiff motion. "Just--get me clean. Please. However you think best."

Bucky winced a little as the word _please_ came out of his mouth, like he thought he'd given something away. Like Steve wasn't supposed to know that Bucky wanted this. 

"All right, let's rinse you off a little first." Steve put his hands gently on either side of Bucky's face and tilted his head back so the main force of the water fell on his hair and only the kicked-up mist would hit his face. 

Bucky closed his eyes as soon as Steve touched him. He moved exactly where Steve moved him, pliant as a doll. Steve felt a little sickened by the sudden shift to perfect obedience, which was twice as unnatural as Bucky's earlier baiting, but he still had the feeling that there was no way out of this but through.

He ran his fingers gently through Bucky's hair. The oiliness of it was rapidly diluted into a weirdly silky texture that he couldn't let himself be fascinated by. He looked down and saw brown water swirling around Bucky's feet, and he nudged Bucky's toes with his own.

"Pick your feet up, get 'em wet."

Bucky obeyed, shifting from foot to foot as he let the water run over the soles and sides, wiggling his toes. When the water ran mostly clear around him Steve looked him over, considering his plan of attack. Bucky still had his eyes closed even though Steve wasn't touching him now.

"Face first," Steve decided, since Bucky's stubble was now the most glaringly obvious sign of his unkemptness. Steve raised his own cupped hands to fill them with water, then gently wetted down the skin of Bucky's face, scrubbing his fingertips through Bucky's stubble to rinse away the last lingering traces of chocolate and grime.

When his stubble and the skin under it looked reasonably clean, Steve picked up the can of shaving cream. Buck's eyelids twitched at the _fwoosh_ sound of it dispensing into Steve's palm, but he didn't open his eyes. Steve spread lather all over Bucky's stubble with quick, light touches. 

He rinsed his hands clean, picked up the razor, and winced at the sight of Bucky just standing there, head tilted back. He was offering himself up to this like some kind of sacrifice, giving his throat literally to the blade.

"Buck," Steve said gently. "Look at me."

Bucky opened his eyes a few obedient millimeters. Steve could just see the gleam of blue between his wet eyelashes, though he couldn't read any more expression on Bucky's face than when his eyes were closed.

Steve held up the razor. "You want to do this part yourself?"

"I will if you tell me to," Bucky said, so quietly the sound of his voice nearly blended into the falling water.

So that was a _no_. Steve reminded himself that Bucky had gone out of his way to maneuver them both into this exact situation.

"Okay," Steve said. "I'll do it."

Bucky closed his eyes and tilted his chin up a fraction further, and Steve figured that was as much encouragement as he was going to get.

He'd seen Bucky shave about a thousand times, and he sifted through memories now, trying to piece together the exact sequence of motions Bucky preferred, the little tricks and quirks every guy's shaving routine included. When he thought he could follow it well enough to give Bucky a good shave on the first try, he touched two fingertips to Bucky's cheekbone. He tilted Bucky's head to just the right angle, and started with the first long swipe down Bucky's left cheek. 

He slid his fingers down the stripe of clean pink skin revealed by the razor. He couldn't resist that new smoothness, and Bucky moved in response. It was barely more than a twitch, but he pressed into Steve's touch, and Steve felt warmth flash through him all out of proportion to Bucky's reaction. 

However strangely he was acting now, and however strangely he'd been acting before, Bucky did want this from Steve.

"Okay," Steve murmured.

He got on with it, settling into a steady rhythm, shaving and rinsing the razor. He pressed his thumb to the center of Bucky's upper lip as he shaved it, holding him still and stretching the skin, and Bucky's lower lip shivered against the pad of his thumb. Steve bit his lip and steadied his breathing.

He moved on to the tricky shaving of Bucky's chin, and then the underside of his jaw. Bucky tipped his face up for that without being prodded, showing his throat as he offered himself to Steve's hand at just the right angle. Steve rinsed the razor one last time and gave in to the temptation to run his hands all over Bucky's smooth face and down to his throat, checking for any stray stubble he'd missed. The traitorous thought occurred to him that he could check with his lips. They were more sensitive, weren't they? Was that only for fevers?

But he pushed the thought away, ignoring it with the clinging uneven dampness of his underwear against his half-hard cock. Bucky might like this attention from Steve, but they'd already established that this wasn't about sex--nothing Bucky did was about sex, because Bucky didn't want to have sex. This was just about getting Bucky clean--which meant treating him gently, showing him care. Bucky liked _that_ , and that was all Steve was going to give him. 

He put the razor away in the little wire rack and picked up Bucky's shampoo. 

"Hair next," Steve said quietly. "Turn for me, okay?"

Bucky pivoted obediently, facing into the spray now and offering his wet hair to Steve's hands. Once it was a mass of white lather Steve spent some time rubbing it in, working his fingers in little circles over Bucky's scalp. He paid special attention to the base of his skull and his temples. He'd seen Bucky digging in his knuckles at those spots sometimes, chasing the headaches that were the least of his leftover symptoms from decades of abuse. 

Bucky's right shoulder sagged, and Steve would swear that the left one did too, somehow. His head tipped back heavily into Steve's hands, and Steve kept up the soapy massage until half the lather had dripped away down his wrists and Bucky's spine. 

"Okay." Steve lowered his hands. "Turn back."

Bucky obeyed again--a little more reluctantly, Steve thought, and he made a mental note to spend some time drying and combing Bucky's hair when they were done in the shower. Bucky faced him with his eyes still closed; his face was slack with something Steve thought was closer to relaxation than absence. 

Steve slipped his hands back into Bucky's hair, helping work the water through the strands to rinse them. Bucky again tilted his head back into Steve's grip--this time with Steve's arms around him. Only a couple of humid inches separated their bodies, and Steve couldn't help staring at Bucky's parted lips. They looked naked and inviting now that Bucky's face was bare, and Bucky's exposed throat seemed to beg to be nuzzled and kissed.

Except that Bucky wasn't begging for any such thing. Steve pressed his lips together tightly as he finished rinsing Bucky's hair. He just had to focus. He was here to take care of Bucky because Bucky wanted him to. What Steve wanted had nothing to do with this. 

Steve picked up the soap and washcloth next. He lathered the cloth and then folded it small to wash Bucky's face without ever letting the wet cloth rest against his eyes, nose, or mouth. He washed behind each ear next, and the back of his neck and the column of his throat. He guided Bucky with light touches, turning his face this way and that to rinse, gathering his hair in one hand to bare his neck.

Steve washed gently over the juncture of metal and flesh at Bucky's left shoulder, and then ran the cloth down over Bucky's arm to take away the easily-reached dust and grime. He could still see dark lines at the joints, but he'd have to clean those afterward--Bucky had a kit for it somewhere. Steve had seen him with it a couple of times. For now he got Bucky's left arm as clean as a washcloth could make it.

It took some time to rinse the cloth clean after that, and doing so meant standing with his arms nearly around Bucky again, wringing the cloth in the spray of water behind him. Bucky had his head tilted forward now that he wasn't keeping the shampoo out of his eyes, and it felt almost like he was leaning toward Steve, welcoming the embrace. 

Steve closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. He didn't touch Bucky anywhere except where he couldn't quite reach around without his wrist touching Bucky's shoulder.

When the cloth was clean he soaped it again and moved on, washing Bucky's right arm right down to his fingers. There was dirt under his fingernails that Steve would have to get with a brush, but he washed everything he could, down the muscular length of Bucky's arm, over and between each finger. 

Bucky's hand lay half-curled in his, unresisting, just twitching a little when Steve rubbed hard with the washcloth. Steve bit his lip against the impulse to kiss his knuckles, his palm, his shoulder. His cock was throbbing so hard it hurt, and he mustered up a little silent humor.

 _Look at you, Captain America, about to come in your pants from holding Bucky's hand_. 

He would--he'd be happy with nothing more than this--if he were getting the slightest sign from Bucky that he wanted it to mean anything else. But Bucky just stood there quietly, face covered in the silky, dripping curtain of his hair. His fingers twitched again as Steve rinsed them clean. Nothing more than that.

Steve moved on, pushing Bucky's hand up and saying quietly, "Over your head, okay?"

Bucky gave a tiny nod and cooperated, raising his arm over his head so Steve could scrub his armpit--twice. Bucky twitched once when Steve gentled his touch, and Steve knew better than to tickle him and pressed more firmly. After that Bucky was perfectly still. 

When Steve had rinsed and soaped the cloth again, Bucky raised his left arm without prompting, and Steve said, "Good, thanks."

He washed the underside of Bucky's arm. This one had no smell at all, except maybe a warm ozone tang of electronics, but he was probably imagining that. He guided Bucky's arm back down when he was done and raised the washcloth to Bucky's collarbones, squeezing suds down his chest and then scrubbing over that weirdly smooth skin, lower and lower. 

He worked past Bucky's nipples without paying them any special attention, down over his ribs as Bucky breathed steadily in and out. He kept his touch firm again as he soaped his way down Bucky's abs, all the way to the sharp tan line at his waist, and the curling hair below it. 

He hesitated there, the cloth pressed to milky pale skin, suds dripping into Bucky's pubes. Bucky's cock was hanging there, undeniably in Steve's path and thoroughly unaffected by any of this. Steve's erection wilted just looking at it. This wasn't remotely arousing for Bucky. He didn't want anything Steve wanted.

"Bucky," Steve said, wavering between asking a question and just ordering him to wash his own crotch.

Bucky lifted one foot and propped it on the edge of the bathtub.

Steve took a hard breath in and out through his nose, and caught the reek of unwashed balls. He closed his eyes. He was here to help. He was here to take care of Bucky. 

He lathered the cloth again and then got on with it, scrubbing his fingers through Bucky's pubic hair to lather it. He handled Bucky's dick with more tender care than his own--he didn't know how briskly Bucky handled himself, but better to err on the side of gentleness. He didn't know if it was an optical illusion from the size of his hands, but it seemed to shrink a little in his grip. 

Steve's stomach turned, chasing his arousal away. Bucky really didn't want him like that. Thank God Steve had never taken him up on any of his offers. 

He lowered himself to his knees to focus on what he was doing. He washed Bucky's crotch with equal gentleness. Steve rinsed and soaped the cloth again and moved on without hesitating, running it over the muscular length of each thigh, drawing Bucky's left foot back down. He had to scrub a little at Bucky's knees. How on earth had Bucky managed to get dirty _knees_ when Steve hadn't seen him in short pants since he was fourteen? 

Steve smiled and shook his head a little. Never doubt Bucky's determination when he set out to do a thing. 

He worked his way down Bucky's hairy shins and calves, then closed his hand around Bucky's ankle and pulled up slightly. 

Bucky obeyed the silent command, raising his foot into Steve's grasp, and Steve leaned Bucky's heel on his own thigh as he carefully cleaned his foot, instep and sole and each toe. He rinsed and soaped the cloth again and scrubbed until he was satisfied. When he pushed Bucky's foot back, Bucky held it behind him to rinse without being told, then raised his other foot to Steve's hands immediately. 

Steve smiled a little at that quiet sign of enjoyment--whatever this was, he was getting it right. He took equal care with Bucky's other foot, scrutinizing him right down to the toenails until he had him perfectly clean. 

Steve rinsed and soaped the cloth one more time and stood.

"Turn around," he said quietly, and again Bucky obeyed without hesitation, standing with his face toward the spray, his shining-wet back offered to Steve.

Steve ran the soapy cloth firmly over Bucky's back. He could feel the tension in the muscles along his spine, in the remaining flesh of his left shoulder and all of his right. Steve ran the washcloth up and down, rubbing firmly through that thin barrier, until Bucky braced his left arm against the wall and let his head fall forward.

Steve slung the washcloth over his own shoulder then and put both hands on Bucky's back, working over the corded muscles, slicked with soap and running water. Bucky arched into it by slow degrees, and Steve wanted him so desperately--wanted it to mean more than this, to mean as much to Bucky as the chance to touch Bucky meant to him--that he found himself bending close before he knew what he was doing.

He pressed his lips to his own knuckles instead of Bucky's skin, reminding himself fiercely that this was one-sided. Bucky didn't want him like that. But his hands worked without stopping, rubbing down Bucky's shoulders and back until Bucky was sagging into it.

Steve told himself that he couldn't have been at it that long because the water was still hot, but he'd never actually known the hot water to run out here.

"Okay, Bucky?" he murmured, picking up the washcloth off his shoulder again. There wasn't any soap left on Bucky's back to wash away, but Steve splashed some water down his back anyway.

Bucky nodded and dropped his left hand, straightening up. Steve picked up the washcloth and got on with soaping up Bucky's ass, not letting himself think, not letting his touch linger.

"Okay, rinse," Steve said, nudging Bucky to turn back under the spray, and Bucky did, his eyes aimed somewhere around Steve's ankles now that he was facing him again. 

"Got everything?" Steve asked softly. "Did I miss anything?"

Bucky shrugged and shook his head and then his gaze darted over Steve, not meeting his eyes but passing swiftly over his body. 

"Soap," Bucky said, almost quietly enough to be lost under the water. He raised his left hand to hover at Steve's right shoulder without touching.

Steve looked, and realized there was soap where he'd dropped the washcloth on his shoulder. 

"Thanks," he said quietly. 

Bucky nodded and stepped all the way back under the spray so that Steve could lean into it, rinsing his shoulder and incidentally getting his merely damp underwear completely soaked. The drag of wet fabric made Steve uncomfortably aware of how hard he was, but he stepped back and said, "Turn the water off, please."

The silence was sudden and a little shocking; the small sounds of dripping water seemed very loud. Steve pushed the shower curtain back, another loud rattling sound, and grabbed a couple of towels off the rack. He wrapped one around his own hips, which muffled the shape of his erection a little. The other towel he spread across his hands.

"Come here," Steve said. "You're not done getting clean until you're dry, right?"

Bucky stepped forward with something that looked like eagerness, even if he didn't meet Steve's eyes. Steve pressed the towel gently to Bucky's face, patting it dry before he moved on to Bucky's hair. He rubbed gently but briskly, and then worked his way down the rest of Bucky's body, touch muffled by the cloth so that he couldn't get too distracted from what he was doing. 

Steve sat back on his heels when he was done, looking up at Bucky. For once Bucky did meet his eyes, but his expression was very still, a mask that might be hiding anything. 

His hair was a tousled mess from the towel, though, and there were still dark lines marring the joints of his left arm, so Steve wasn't finished with him yet. 

Steve nodded toward Bucky's left arm. "Where do you keep your kit for that?"

Bucky licked his lips--a visible stall, like he had to carefully consider his answer. When it came, though, it was a single word. "Bedroom."

"You mind if I come in there to use it?" Steve asked. He had stayed out of Bucky's room up to now; giving him a space he could control, where he could be sure of his privacy, was too important. 

Bucky shook his head slightly and then clarified. "Don't mind. If you--"

"I want to," Steve interrupted firmly. He got up and wrapped the damp towel around Bucky's hips so they were equally dressed. "Let's go."

Bucky led the way, although Steve had the feeling that if he stopped walking Bucky would stop too. When they got into the room, the kit--a little black leather bag like a shaving kit--was out on the dresser top, along with a comb, deodorant, and various other little odds and ends.

"Okay, take a seat," Steve said, waving Bucky toward the foot of the neatly made bed. He tried not to notice that Bucky went down like Steve had cut his strings. Like he had no choice but to do exactly what Steve said. 

Steve picked up the comb and the cleaning kit and came back to the bed. He crawled onto it to kneel behind Bucky, belatedly asking, "Is this okay?"

Silly to even ask; Bucky just nodded.

Steve put his left hand on Bucky's left shoulder and used the comb to roughly part his hair before he started combing, carefully, section by section. There weren't many tangles, but Steve took his time working out the ones he found, and then spent some time just combing Bucky's sleek, damp hair.

Bucky bowed his head under the attention, and his shoulders sagged into a relaxed posture again. Steve kept it up until he had to admit to himself that he wasn't putting anything in any better order, and then he set the comb aside and opened the cleaning kit. 

There were little brushes and soft-tipped picks, and Steve figured those would be the things for cleaning out all the grooves. There were some soft cloths, too. Steve selected a couple of items to start with and, after considering the angles and Bucky's apparent mood, he said, "Would you lie down on your side and let me get your arm clean?"

Bucky nodded and curled down right there at the foot of the bed. Steve sat cross-legged behind him, his knees pressing lightly against Bucky's spine. Bucky had his head pillowed on his folded right arm, but Steve spared only a glance at his face. His eyes were closed, and he was obviously waiting for Steve to get on with it.

Steve did. He started at the fingertips, cleaning one joint at a time, polishing with the cloth after each finger, then moving on to the palm. He'd never spent anything like this much time looking closely at Bucky's metal hand, let alone touching it. In its weight and slight warmth--whether from the interior machinery or the hot shower--it felt much like a real hand. The many joints in the metal surface made the hardness of it seem almost irrelevant, and it was as responsive as an actual hand. Bucky's other fingers would twitch a little when Steve held one still to clean it, and likewise all the fingers responded when Steve rubbed along the first seam of the palm.

He stopped short, realizing he didn't know what those twitches _meant_.

"Buck--this doesn't hurt, does it?"

Bucky shook his head without opening his eyes, twisting his hand a little in Steve's grip to offer him a better view of the joint he was working on. "Kind of... tickles. S'nice, though."

Bucky pressed his lips together tightly as soon as those words escaped, as though he hadn't meant to say them.

Steve bowed his head over Bucky's hand and let himself grin as widely as he wanted to, warmth suffusing his whole body. Bucky _did_ like this. He was doing the right thing. 

That certainty carried him down into absorption in the task, and he cleaned Bucky's entire arm, joint by joint, all the way to the shoulder. Bucky held his arm wherever Steve moved it as he cleaned, even flexing to reveal the plates that slid over each other around his shoulder to give the full range of motion. Steve polished everything he could reach, and finally he lay Bucky's left hand down in front of his chest.

His right hand was already there, fingers curled so that Steve could see the dark lines under his fingernails. He picked up Bucky's right hand and cleaned it with the same soft pick he'd been using, giving his fingers a last little rub with the soft cloth that he'd used to polish the metal. The corners of Bucky's mouth turned up for a second, and Steve smiled and set his hand back down.

Bucky seemed perfectly inclined to stay there, curled up at the foot of his own bed. It seemed possible he was already asleep, and had been responding by reflex to the manipulation of his arm and hand. 

Steve ought to have left it at that--told him they were finished, put the kit away, and walked out. 

But Bucky was warm and pliant and half naked and he'd invited this. He had wanted Steve's attention. Steve had ignored his own wants--he would go right on ignoring what he wanted--but he couldn't help being aware that ultimately Bucky had probably wanted this quiet closeness, this simple touch, more than he wanted Steve's help showering. 

"Buck," Steve said softly. "You mind if I lie down with you for a little while?"

Bucky's eyes opened, and he looked up at Steve sideways for a long, still moment. Then he rolled over, sprawling across Steve's towel-covered lap and circling his arms around Steve's hips. 

"Oh." Steve ran his hands gently through Bucky's hair. It was starting to dry, short hairs curling up out of the longer straight mass that shrouded his face. 

"Bucky," Steve said softly, when Bucky had pillowed his cheek against Steve's thigh and his face was again still in repose. "Can you tell me what this was? I'll do it again anytime you want, but will you tell me why?"

Bucky moved his head--a nod that also rubbed his cheek against the terrycloth covering Steve's thigh. Steve's dick twitched, and he did his best to ignore it.

"Before," Bucky said. "Not way back before, but... before this. Hydra."

"Yeah," Steve said, dread creeping into the quiet stillness of the moment. "What about Hydra?"

"I never--the asset never did anything for itself, right?" Bucky murmured, eyes still closed. "That's not what an asset's for. An asset does a job. It's somebody else's job to keep the asset supplied, fueled. Maintained."

Steve's breath caught hard in his chest, but he made his fingers run as gently as ever through Bucky's hair. "Maintained, huh?"

"Yeah," Bucky said softly. "It's gotta get clean somehow. Before a mission and before I went into the ice, somebody would have to clean me. Mostly it was a chore they got stuck with. Sometimes--some handlers insisted on doing it themselves."

"Bucky," Steve said, and he heard the helpless note in his voice but couldn't choke it back. 

Bucky patted his hip gently, like Steve was the one who needed to be reassured. 

"It wasn't... I mean, sometimes it was bad, yeah, but it was--useful. To me. Or... not useful, because there wasn't any use in knowing, but it was informative. I could always tell something by the way they did it. What kind of mission it was going to be, how pleased or pissed they were with the way I performed. What that particular tech or handler wanted from me."

 _Dunk my head in a bucket of water_ , Bucky had suggested. _Get out the scrub brush._

"And you," Steve said haltingly. The hell of it was, he'd known it was a test. He just hadn't known who he was being graded against, though it seemed sickeningly obvious in retrospect. "You needed to know."

"I mean," Bucky looked up at him with a sly smile. "Don't worry, Rogers, I had you pegged for a good one."

Steve shook his head minutely, though he didn't really doubt that he'd been preferable to some HYDRA tech or handler.

"I knew all of it already," Bucky said softly. "Steve--I knew I could trust you. I knew you cared about me. I knew you could be about a thousand times more patient than I deserve when you think I need you to be."

Steve looked down at Bucky, searching his gaze. He couldn't help remembering Bucky's wide-eyed look when Steve stripped to get into the shower. Bucky might have known all of that, but he hadn't been sure how Steve would show it--and there was a world of difference between knowing something and having the proof of it rubbed into your skin.

"I know you love me," Bucky insisted. "And I know you want me but you'll never, ever push me for something I don't want."

Steve shook his head harder that time, although that was more true than anything else.

Bucky sat up to face him. Steve folded his hands in his lap where, by now, he had nothing to hide. 

"The thing I need _you_ to know," Bucky said, "is I don't want it all to go one way. I know how you'll take care of me when I need taking care of, but--God, Steve, I hate that I'm the one who needs taking care of all the time. I wish you'd let me return the favor."

"You already did," Steve said, but he tripped over the words, because he remembered having this argument with Bucky. 

Only it had been him protesting being taken care of back then, asking for--demanding--a way to pay it back. Bucky's kind, steady hands had seen him through fevers and bad breathing spells and a hundred backalley scraps. Steve had always known Bucky loved him. He'd always known exactly what kind of care Bucky would take of him if he was helpless, because he'd been helpless all too often.

Steve met Bucky's eyes and found Bucky looking back at him steadily, patiently. He wasn't the same as he'd been before, but Bucky was still the furthest thing from a stranger. 

"Having you touch me like this is about as good as it gets for me now--that's half the reason I did this, I just wanted you to touch me," Bucky said quietly. "Sex doesn't... doesn't compute. I don't know how to want it anymore. But that doesn't mean I'm a kid or an animal or a machine. It doesn't mean I don't know what I'm saying when I say I want to touch you too. I want to make you feel good. I want you to let me show you what I'd do if you were mine to take care of."

"I am," Steve said, because there was no other answer to that. "Bucky, I always was."

"Then let me give you what you want," Bucky said, and for the first time Steve could feel the pleading in it. "Let me get close, Stevie. You shy away like you think I'm gonna break if I touch you, and I'm fucking sorry I said it the wrong way the first time I asked, but I just... I need you, and I need to _do something_ for you. I need to be good for something."

"You are," Steve insisted, but he knew exactly how little comfort it had been when it was him feeling useless and Bucky insisting he was fine the way he was.

So he'd shined Bucky's shoes, done as many of the household chores as he could manage. And on the rare occasion that Bucky came down with a cold or a worse hangover than usual, Bucky had cheerfully demanded Steve's attention. Steve had grumbled about it, teasingly, but nothing had made him feel better than having something to give for once. To say nothing of the chance to be close to Bucky when he wasn't feeling next door to death himself--the chance to touch, to look as long as he wanted and know he wouldn't get caught. He had always loved Bucky, always wanted him. 

"Come here," Steve said softly, and it broke his heart a little to see Bucky hesitate, unsure of how close Steve wanted him--how close Steve would let him come.

Steve started to reach for him, but he stopped short. This wasn't for him to fix. It wasn't for him to do anything. That wasn't what Bucky was asking for.

Steve pulled away, scooting up the bed until he could lie propped against Bucky's pillows. He folded his arms behind his head, stretched like a cat, and then said, "I'm all yours."

Bucky leaned forward, holding Steve's gaze while he tugged open the towel Steve was wearing. Steve just lifted his hips to let Bucky pull it away completely, leaving him wearing only his damp underwear. 

Bucky's gaze dropped to his crotch, where the erection killed by the thought of Bucky and a lot of HYDRA... _scrub brushes_... hadn't yet rallied. 

"Should I start asking if you're sure?" Bucky asked, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "Since I suddenly can't see the evidence?"

"I'm sure," Steve said simply. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you were sure too."

Bucky's teasing expression softened to something more affectionate. "So what am I gonna do for you, huh? What have you been wanting?"

Bucky laid his hand on Steve's dick, giving it a friendly squeeze, and Steve's breath caught, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Give me a--" 

He felt motion, and opened his eyes when Bucky's hand left his cock, only to find himself face-to-face with Bucky, who was now leaning over him.

"Kiss," Steve said, holding Bucky's gaze and feeling suddenly breathless. "Honestly, that's--"

Bucky didn't make him wait another second, or even to the end of the word. Steve was still talking when Bucky's lips met his, letting out a jumble of sound when Bucky licked into his open mouth. In the next second he pushed up into the kiss. 

He had wanted this so badly for so long. It was dizzyingly surreal to realize that it was happening now, at this moment; he had somehow lived through everything to finally arrive at the instant when Bucky's tongue was curling over his.

Bucky pulled back, smiling open-mouthed, and said, "Sorry, you were saying."

Steve made a useless vowel noise and Bucky dipped in to kiss him again until Steve was whining into it, trying to squirm into contact with Bucky's body without giving up and grabbing him. It was Bucky's turn to do the taking-care, after all.

"Okay, Stevie," Bucky said the next time he broke the kiss, his voice indulgently amused. "What can I do for you?"

Steve did better this time, swallowing and taking a breath before he tried to form words. His lips and tongue tingled from Bucky's kisses. 

"Just--touch me," Steve said. He was hard again, straining against the damp underwear he was, for some reason, still wearing. "The thing where I've been waiting _my entire life_ for this is gonna do most of the work for you--oh, God, _Bucky_ ," because Bucky had ducked his head and was mouthing along the line of Steve's jaw, up to the pulse point on his throat.

"Gonna do it right," Bucky murmured, picking his head up again to look down at Steve, and there was a seriousness lurking under the teasing in his expression. "Gonna touch you better than anybody's ever touched you. So you'll know--"

Bucky cut off sharply and moved to straddle Steve's chest, getting down to the work of touching.

"I know, Buck," Steve said softly, as Bucky cupped Steve's face with his right hand, his thumb brushing over Steve's cheekbone.

"Not like you're gonna," Bucky muttered, the tone of his voice oddly dire in contrast with the gentleness of his hand. His left hand mirrored the right, and Steve closed his eyes as Bucky leaned down again. He parted his lips for a kiss, but Bucky's mouth touched softly at the center of his forehead, then each of his closed eyes and the tip of his nose.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tighter, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand seeing Bucky's face while he was being so unbearably tender. He wondered what his own face had looked like, in the shower.

Bucky did kiss his lips then, but he kept it light, brushing open-mouthed touches as his hands slid down to briefly circle Steve's throat. Steve tipped up his chin and flicked out his tongue to taste Bucky's lips, and Bucky's hands shifted up and back, cradling Steve's head. 

Bucky rubbed firmly at Steve's temples, fingers sifting through his hair as he kept up his maddeningly soft kisses. Steve couldn't help stirring, his cock throbbing with his pulse as Bucky's hands moved over his scalp. Steve tried to go limp, to submit to Bucky's touch so that Bucky wouldn't stop, but it went and on and on until he started squirming again, wanting more. He couldn't help but be aware of Bucky poised above him, nearly naked.

"Bucky," Steve murmured, but Bucky's kneading hands moved to the back of his neck, strong enough to press the tension from the muscles at the base of his skull and either side of his spine. Anything else Steve might have said dissolved into a groan.

"Mm," Bucky said, and he was leaning down low, so close Steve could feel Bucky's breath on his throat. "That's a good spot, huh?

Steve didn't want to nod in case he interrupted the perfect rhythmic pressure of Bucky's hands. He managed a wavering, "Uh-huh."

"Good," Bucky said softly.

He nuzzled at the underside of Steve's jaw, rubbing his cheek against Steve's throat. Steve had never, in all his history of asthma attacks and pneumonia, been more conscious of and grateful for his breathing than when Bucky's cheek was pressed to his windpipe. 

Bucky's hands worked slowly down the back of his neck while Steve grew more and more limply relaxed except where he was very, very hard. When Bucky's hands moved to the tops of his shoulders he whimpered a little, but he didn't move. 

Bucky pressed his forehead to the center of Steve's chest, just below his collarbones. Steve could feel Bucky's breath against his breastbone, making his skin tingle, his nipples tightening up almost painfully. Bucky just stayed there, folded down over him and rubbing the bunched muscles of his shoulders, until Steve was half-hypnotized by it. 

Steve found himself in a strange motionless place where he was desperately aroused and also content to hold completely still for as long as Bucky wanted him to. When Bucky's forehead lifted away from him, it was replaced by Bucky's hands sweeping down from his shoulders and over his chest. He pushed up into the touch when Bucky's fingers slipped over his nipples, and Bucky moved his hands back and forth, a few times. He didn't stroke or pinch, just passed the flat of his hand up and down over Steve's chest, and even that made his cock ache. 

He opened his eyes then, to watch Bucky watching the motion of his own hands, or maybe watching the way Steve's body responded to them. Steve was sweating now. The skin of his chest was damp under Bucky's hands, and he could feel sweat trickling down his stretched-open armpits as he lay with his arms up.

"M'gonna need another shower by the time you're done with me," Steve murmured.

Bucky smiled again, a pleased look replacing the expression of interested absorption. "Don't worry, Stevie. I'll clean you up."

Bucky's hands reversed course, sliding up his sides to the backs of his arms. His thumbs pressed in briefly, almost reflexively, against the pulses of the arteries there. His hands moved up to Steve's elbows, in along his wrists between Steve's head and the pillow. Bucky was leaning low over him now, and he kissed Steve again, deeper and wetter this time.

Steve rocked into it, closing his hands tight around Bucky's when they slipped into place, palm to palm. 

Bucky was still holding the rest of his body up away from Steve's, and Steve still couldn't get any friction on his dick. He writhed under Bucky's kiss, clinging to Bucky's hands, until Bucky picked his head up. His smile was wicked and breathless and so familiar Steve already knew he was about to get dared to do something dangerous.

"Turn over for me," Bucky said.

"I'm being punished," Steve realized.

Bucky ducked his head to bite Steve's lower lip until Steve was gasping and arching under him.

"It's good for you," Bucky muttered, tugging his hands free of Steve's. "Now be a pal and turn for me."

Steve obeyed, turning over under Bucky. He buried his face in the pillow, but tilted his hips up instead of rubbing his cock desperately against the mattress. He was tempted, but this was Bucky's show. 

"Good," Bucky murmured, his warm right hand closing on Steve's hip, tugging him up another inch. "You okay? You can stay like this for a little while for me?"

Steve nodded into the pillow and was rewarded with a kiss on the back of his neck, slow and lingering. He shivered all over, tilting his ass back and up.

"Please," he gasped into the pillow. 

Bucky's hand on his hip tightened, then opened to stroke up and down his side. He felt Bucky pull away, and then his hands were on Steve's shoulders, rubbing again, and Steve groaned and gave himself up to it.

He was definitely being punished. He never wanted Bucky to stop punishing him. 

Bucky moved slowly down his back while Steve tried to hold still. Bucky would drop kisses at random intervals--sometimes two together, sometimes none for what felt like ages. Steve couldn't help responding every time, pushing into the touch, begging while the pillow muffled his noises. 

Bucky just kept moving lower, and when he pressed a lingering kiss to Steve's tailbone it went through him like a shock. His cock jumped, untouched, to slap against his belly, and Steve spread his knees wider without thinking.

"Greedy," Bucky murmured, sounding fond.

Steve picked his head up to say _you don't have to do anything you don't want to_ and the words that came out were, "Jesus Christ, Bucky, please."

Bucky laughed, a hot puff of breath between the cheeks of Steve's ass. His hands were on the backs of Steve's thighs, pushing him to spread open further. 

"You said you wanted me to touch you," Bucky said, sing-song and teasing. "You didn't say where. You said it'd be easy."

"You are such an asshole," Steve said, caught on a teetering edge between frustrated lust and overwhelming delight that Bucky was so much _himself_.

"Your asshole," Bucky muttered, which might have been a rejoinder or just an observation, because the next thing Steve felt was Bucky's tongue circling his hole.

Steve pressed his cheek to the inside of his arm, not even trying to stop the noises that came out of his mouth as Bucky licked him. He didn't try to speak, just spilled out breathy gasps that were almost sobs at every flicker of pleasure from his ass.

It didn't take long before there was a firmer touch, Bucky's fingers testing against his hole, teasing the rim. 

"Please," Steve gasped. That might actually be enough to finish him, if Bucky would just do it.

"Hmm," Bucky said, taking his fingers away and licking again, turning it into a long sucking kiss that shot up Steve's spine and made his whole brain fizz. 

"You gonna remember this?" Bucky asked.

Steve groaned. "Yeah."

"You gonna remember this when you think maybe you shouldn't touch me the way I ask you to touch me?" Bucky punctuated the words with little kitten-licks, just enough to be maddening. Steve looked down to see pre-come beading at the head of his cock.

"Yeah," Steve whispered. "Yeah, Bucky, I'll remember, I swear, I'll do anything, please just--"

Bucky made another thoughtful noise, but he was pushing two fingers against Steve's hole at the same time, and he was so wet and loose from Bucky's mouth that they slid in easily. Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he was opened up, and then Bucky's fingers found his prostate, and the jolt of pleasure traveled through his whole body. 

His cock jumped and his nipples throbbed. All his skin was crying out to be touched. Bucky's tongue was on him again, stroking wetly over his rim while his fingers twisted and pressed inside of Steve, pushing him closer and closer to the brink. He really was going to get off just like this, Bucky was going to push this orgasm out of him with just that teasing press of fingers--

And then it was gone, Bucky's fingers pulling out, Bucky's mouth going away. Steve looked over his shoulder, wide-eyed and stranded in the dizzy almost-there haze of pleasure.

"Turn for me," Bucky said, smiling wickedly with wet, red lips.

Steve obeyed before he let himself think, flopping onto his back and spreading his legs wide. His was harder than he'd ever been, his balls drawn up tight, his ass slick and wet with Bucky's attentions.

"Please," Steve gasped, "Bucky, please, please--"

Bucky folded down between Steve's legs again, pushing on his thighs to tilt Steve's ass to the angle he wanted and _still not touching his dick._

Steve sobbed, arching up, when Bucky's fingers shoved back into him. Bucky's breath just puffed against his balls, and Steve came in wracking pulses, his head tipped back and his breath cut off completely.

He stayed there for a few breaths, as the bright shock of pleasure faded down into--

Bucky's fingers were moving inside him again, and he felt his cock throbbing in answer. Steve let out a helpless little sob as he looked down and saw exactly what he knew he would see. Bucky was smirking between his thighs, Steve's chest was covered in strings and splatters of come, and his cock still hard and showing no sign of giving up.

"Fuck," Steve moaned. "Bucky."

"I said I'd clean you up, pal," Bucky said, and he leaned up over Steve without taking his fingers from Steve's ass. His hair fell forward as he bowed his head over Steve's chest. Steve didn't think before he reached up to tuck it back--partly to keep it out of Bucky's way, partly so that he could see the second when Bucky's tongue made contact, licking Steve's come off his abs. 

Steve couldn't breathe. His heart was thundering and his cock was already throbbing with readiness again. He was going to die like this, watching Bucky's tongue scoop up the mess of his come. 

Then Bucky looked right at him, swallowing as Steve watched, and Steve's vision blurred a little as his cock spit out more--coming again, or still, he didn't know. He couldn't think at all. 

Bucky bowed his head and did it again, and Steve's fingers wound into his hair, holding on tight as Bucky licked steadily over his chest, higher and higher until his lips brushed Steve's nipple. Steve's grip tightened, shoving Bucky just a little, and Bucky looked up at him again and used his teeth, biting down right where Steve was so sensitive.

Steve made a desperate sound, pleading. 

Bucky bit down harder and then licked, _sucked_ at that little nub until Steve was rocking up into him. He was caught between Bucky's mouth and the fingers still stroking maddeningly in his ass.

"Kiss me," Steve demanded, tugging on Bucky's hair, "kiss me or suck my dick but--"

Bucky moved fast, his mouth hitting Steve's like a punch, a clash of teeth and lips that made Steve hotter, needier, licking up his own mess from Bucky's tongue. He arched up, finally managing to rub his cock against Bucky's belly, dimly aware of the soft weight of Bucky's cock against him. 

Bucky shoved in hard with his fingers, and Steve had to pull away from the kiss to keen at the pleasure tipping over into pain. Bucky's mouth fastened to his throat in a biting kiss and Steve rutted up against him in frantic thrusts until he came again, this time all over them both.

Steve whimpered a little as Bucky's fingers slipped free of him. A second later he remembered to let go of Bucky's hair.

"Sorry," he muttered, petting gently over the back of Bucky's head.

Bucky snorted and settled down on top of him, giving him a kiss that was hardly more than a peck. "Asked you for it. You did fine."

Steve opened his eyes and looked down at them, both smeared with come and sweat. "Gonna need another shower."

"Later," Bucky yawned, sprawling firmly over Steve. His weight couldn't really hold Steve down, but Steve could take a hint. He let his eyes close. "Still my turn to take care of you. You wanted to cuddle."

Steve couldn't argue with that. He closed his arms around Bucky, tucked his face against Bucky's hair, and inhaled the mingled scents of shampoo and sex. This wasn't where he'd expected to be an hour ago, when he walked in and saw those muddy footprints, and knew that Bucky had taken his dirtiness project a few literal steps further.

"Where'd you find that much dirt in Brooklyn, anyway?" Steve muttered sleepily. "Everything's paved over."

"Not telling," Bucky replied, sounding like he was just as close to falling asleep as Steve was. "Might need it later."

Steve frowned and picked up his head to look at Bucky. "You don't have to--"

Bucky snorted, and reached up with his left hand to press Steve's head back down to the pillow. "Not to get a shower," Bucky said. "But the look on your face--"

Steve growled and flipped Bucky over, pinning him down, and Bucky grinned and let him. 

"You're still mopping the floor," Steve informed him, with the little bit of sternness he could summon up. 

"I'm still taking a nap," Bucky corrected, and held Steve down with him. Steve gave in without a fight. They'd have time to work the rest out later.

**Author's Note:**

> Asexual Character notes: Bucky, while he does not explicitly identify as asexual, probably would if he knew the word--post-HYDRA, he's currently experiencing zero libido and zero attraction. He is, however, almost aggressively enthusiastic about wanting to participate in sex with Steve, as a form of intimacy and because he wants to give Steve pleasure. Steve has not altogether understood Bucky's motives and has been refusing to have sex with him, but Bucky finally gets him to understand what he wants and why in this story.


End file.
